Miss Astoria Greengrass
by ttate-langdon
Summary: It's Saturday afternoon and Astoria Greengrass has just been mugged, sang a muggle song to the Minister for Magic, and forcefully 'borrowed' Theodore Nott's PA's phone. To make matters worse, she has lost her priceless engagement ring...


Perspective. I need to get perspective. It's not Wizarding War 3 or a crazy guy is holding hostages in Gringotts or Malkin Couture's last ever sale, is it? On the scale of disasters, this is not huge. _Not_ huge. One day I expect I'll look back at this moment and laugh and think, "Ha ha, how silly I was to worry—"

Stop Astoria. Don't even try. I'm not laughing, in fact I feel sick. I'm walking around the hotel ballroom, heart thudding, searching under discarded napkins, searching the gold and burgundy carpet, behind groups of pink and white balloons, in places that it couldn't possibly be.

I've lost it the only thing on earth I wasn't meant to lose. My engagement ring.

Saying that this ring is special is an understatement. It's this stunning emerald with two diamonds. It been passed down the Most Noble House of Black for just about fifty million generations. People have cried because of it, blood has been spilt over it; Draco even had to go and get it from a very secretive and highly protected vault at Gringotts. Apparently there has been squabbling about his giving it to me. Fighting between the Malfoy's and the Black's and whatever other incestual cousins stem from this messed up family. Words cannot describe how much work I have put into looking after that ring. Keeping it in my little porcelain box that plays music and has a dancing ballerina inside, checking my finger every thirty seconds to remind myself of its presence… and now I've lost it. On the exact same day that his parents are coming back from India. I've lost it. The very same _day_.

Lucius Malfoy and Narcissa Malfoy are, at this very moment, travelling to a portkey after six months holiday in Dubai, India. I can picture them now, eating cucumber finger sandwiches and reading The Daily Prophet. I honestly don't know which one of them is more intimidating.

Him. He's so sleazy.

No, her. With that perfect shade of berry red lipstick and always asking you your views on Witch Weekly's newest article.

OK, they're both bloody scary. And they're coming home in about an hour and of course Narcissa'll want to see the ring…

No. Do not hyperventilate, Astoria. Stay positive. I just need to look at this from a different angle. Like… what would Audrey Hepburn do? Audrey wouldn't flap around in panic. She'd stay calm and remember every single tiny little detail, which could be the clue to everything. Maybe even go to Tiffany's and munch on a pastry and a skinny latte.

I squeeze my eyes tight. Come on. Astoria, you know where it is.

The thing is, I'm not sure Audrey had three glasses of pink champagne and a shot of tequila before she stepped out of her yellow taxi cab elegantly, smoking a cigarette and popping into Tiffany's to do some window shopping.

"Miss?" A grey haired lady is trying to get round me with her wand in hand and I gasp in horror. They're using cleaning spells on the ballroom already? What if it gets lost forever?!

"Excuse me." I grab her blue nylon shoulder. "Could you just give me five more minutes to search before you start hoovering?"

"Still looking for your ring?" She shakes her head doubtfully, and then brightens. "I expect you'll find it safe at home, Miss Malfoy. It's probably been there the entire time!"

"Maybe." I force my head to nod politely, although I feel like screaming, "I'm not that stupid! And I'm Miss Greengrass! _Greengrass_ for fuck sake!"

On the other side of the ballroom I spot another cleaner clearing cupcake crumbs and crumpled paper napkins into a black plastic bin bag. She isn't concentrating at all. Wasn't she listening to me?

"Excuse me!" My voice shrills out as I sprint across to her. "You _are_ looking for my ring, aren't you?"

"No sign of it so far, love." The woman murmurs a charm and another lode of detritus flies off of the table and into the bin bag without giving it a second chance.

"Careful!" I grab for the napkins and pull them out again, feeling each one carefully for a hard lump, not caring that I'm getting butter cream icing all over my hands.

"Dear, I'm trying to clear up." The cleaner grabs the napkins out of my hands. "Look at the mess you're making!"

"I know, I know. I'm sorry." I scrabble for the cupcake cases I dropped on the floor. "But you don't understand. If I don't find this ring, I'm dead."

Look on the bright side. Maybe if I lose the ring for good, the wedding will be called off! Hmmm… very unlikely. Narcissa would force me down the aisle if I hadn't been murdered already.

Gahh! It has to be here, it _has_ to be.

Unless someone's still got it. That's the only other possibility that I'm clinging on to. One of my friends is still wearing it and somehow hasn't noticed. Perhaps it's slipped into a handbag … maybe it's fallen into a pocket … it's stuck on the threads of a jumper … the possibilities in my head are getting more and more far-fetched, but I can't give up on them.

"Have you tried the cloakroom?" The woman swerves to get past me.

Of course I've checked the cloakroom. I checked every single basin cubicle on my hands and knees. And then all the basins. Twice. And then I tried to persuade the concierge to close it and have all the sink pipes investigated, but he refused. He said it would be different if I knew it had been lost there for certain, and he was sure the aurors would agree with him, and could I please step aside because there were other people waiting?

Aurors. Bah. I thought they'd apparate as soon as I'd called, not just tell me to come to the ministry and file a report. I don't have time to file a report! I've got to find my ring! And — even thought this is something I am _not_ proud of — could they not spare a moment for the fiancée of Draco Malfoy? The future daughter in law of Lucius Malfoy? God, I've been in Witch Weekly enough times to be a bloody household name by now.

I hurry back to the circular table we were sitting at this afternoon.

"Accio!" I cry desperately, footering about with my wand. "Accio ring! Accio!" How could I have let this happen? How could I have been so _stupid_?

It was my old school friend Tabitha's idea to get tickets for the Celestina Warbeck Champagne Tea. She couldn't come to my official hen spa weekend, so this was kind of a substitute. There were eight of us at the table, all merrily wiggling champagne and stuffing down cupcakes, and it was just before the raffle started that someone said, 'Come on Astoria, let's have a go with your ring."

I can't even remember who that was, now. Daphne, maybe? Daphne's my older sister. She's exceptionally vain and gorgeous. Not to mention stuck up. Her best friend is Selina Moore, who happens to work with me at St Mungo's as healers. Selina was at the tea too, but I'm not sure she tried on the ring. Or did she?

I can't believe how rubbish I am at this. How can I model myself after Audrey Hepburn if I can't even look after jewellery? The truth is, _everyone_ seemed to be trying on the ring: Tabitha and Rowan and Emma (old school friends from Hogwarts) and Pansy (A girl from Draco's year at school. She's vile and nasty if you ask me, but Narcissa's hired her as my wedding planner) and her assistant Melinda, and Selina and Daphne (my bridesmaids… Daphne insisted).

I'll admit it: I was sulking at the table. I still cannot believe this is happening. I'm engaged! Me, Astoria Greengrass. To a tall, handsome, complete _arse_ of a man. I'm twenty one years of age, and forced into a marriage with a man that doesn't love me. That I don't love. All because our parents want pure-blooded grandchildren.

I wake up every morning and look at Draco's smooth, milky white sleeping back; and think, "Someone up there must really hate me," and feel a tiny bit pathetic. And then I swivel round and look at the ring, gleaming on my nightstand, and feel even more helpless and pathetic.

_What will Draco do?_

My stomach clenched and I swallow hard. No. Don't think about that.

I remember that Rowan wore the ring for a long time. She really didn't want to take it off. Then Tabitha started tugging at it, saying, "My turn, my turn!" And then I remember warning her, "Gently!"

I mean, it's not like I was _irresponsible_. I was carefully watching the ring as it was passed round tables

Bur then my attention was split, because they started in the raffle and the prizes were fantastic. A week in an Italian villa, 100 galleons, and a Malkin Couture voucher… The ballroom was buzzing with people pulling out tickets and numbers being called out from the platform and women jumping and shouting, "Me!"

And _this_ moment where I went wrong. This is the gut churning, if-only instant. If I could go back in time, that's the moment I would march up to myself and say severely, "Astoria, _priorities_."

But you don't realise, do you? The moment happens, and you make your crucial mistake, but then it's gone and the chance to do anything about it is blown away.

So what happened was, Rowan won Quidditch tickets in the raffle. I love rowan to bits, but she's always been a tad feeble. She didn't stand up and yell, "Me! Woo-hoo!" at the top volume, she just raised her hand a few inches. Even those of us on her table didn't realise she'd won.

Just as it dawned on me that rowan was holding a raffle ticket in the air, the presenter on the platform said, "I think we'll draw again, if there's no winner..."

"Shout!" I poked rowan and waved my own hand wildly. "Here! The winner's over here!"

"And the new number is ... 4-4-0-3."

To my disbelief, some dark-haired girl on the other side of the room started whooping and brandishing a ticket.

"She didn't win!" I exclaimed indignantly. "_You _won."

"I don't really like Quidditch." Rowan was shrinking back. "It doesn't matter."

"Of _course_ it matters!" I cried out before I could stop myself, and everyone at the table started laughing.

"Go, Astoria!" called out Tabitha. "Go, White Knightess!" Sort it out!"

"Go, Knightie!"

This is an old joke. Just because there was this one incident at school, where I started a petition to save the goblins, everyone started calling me the White Knightess. Or Knightie, for short. My so-called catchphrase is apparently "Of _course_ it matters!"

Anyway. Suffice it to say that within two minutes I was up on the stage with the dark-haired girl, arguing with the presenter about how my friend's ticket was more valid than hers.

I know now that I should never have left the table. I should never have left the ring, even for a second. I can see how stupid that was. But in my defence, I didn't _know_ the fire alarm was going to go off, did I?

It was so surreal. One minute, everyone was sitting down at a jolly champagne tea. The next minute, a siren was blaring through the air and there was pandemonium, with everyone on their feet, heading for the exits. I could see Daphne, Seline and all the others grabbing their bags and making their way to the back. A man in a suit came on to the stage and started ushering me, the dark-haired girl and the presenter towards a side door, wouldn't let us go the other way. "Your safety is our priority," he kept saying. Even then, it's not as if I was worried. I didn't think the ring would have gone. I assumed one of my friends had it safe and id meet up with everyone outside and get it back

Outside, of course, it was mayhem. There was a big Ministry conference happening at the hotel as well as our tea, and all the officials were spilling out of different doors into the road, hotel staff was trying to make announcements and loudhailers, and muggle cars were beeping, and it took me ages just to find Tabitha and rowan in the melee.

"Have you got my ring?" I demanded at once, trying not to sound accusatory. "Who's got it?"

Both of them looked black.

"Dunno." Tabitha shrugged. "Didn't Daphne have it?"

So then I plunged back into the throng to find my sister, but she didn't have it, she thought rowan had it. And rowan thought Melinda had it. And Melinda thought Seline might have had it, but hadn't she gone already.

The thing about panic is, it creeps up on you. One minute you're still quite calm, still telling yourself, "Don't be ridiculous. Of course it can't be lost." Then next, the Celestina Warbeck staff is announcing that the vent will be curtailed early due to unforeseen circumstances, and handing out goody bags. And all your friends have disappeared to catch a portkey. And your finger is still bare. And a voice inside your head is screeching, "Oh my Merlin! I knew this would happen! Nobody should ever have entrusted me with a priceless ring! Big mistake! Big mistake!"

And that's how you find yourself under a table a table an hour later, groping around a grotty hotel carpet, praying desperately for a miracle. (Even though your fiancé's mother insists that miracles don't exist and it's all superstition and evening saying "Oh my Merlin" is the sign of a week mind.)

Suddenly I realize my BlackBroom is flashing, and grab it with haste three messages have come through, and I scroll though them in hope.

_**Found it yet? Daph xx**_

_**Sorry babe, haven't seen it. Don't worry, I won't breathe a word to Draco. T xxx**_

_**Hi Astoria! Merlin, how awful, to lose your ring! Actually I thought I saw it... **__(Incoming text)_

I stare at my phone, galvanized. Rowan thought she saw it? Where?

I crawl out from under the table and wave my phone around, but the rest resolutely refused to come through. The signal in here is rubbish. How can this call itself a five-star hotel? I'll have to go outside.

"Hi!" I approach the grey-haired cleaner, raising my voice above the roaring of her wand. "I'm popping out to check a text. But if you do find the ring, just call me, I've given you my mobile number, I'll just be on the street..."

"Right you are, dear," says the cleaner patiently.

I hurry through the lobby, dodging groups of conference delegates, trying to hide my face from Draco's co workers, even though it isn't a conference for his department, and slowing slightly as I pass the concierge's desk.

"Any sign of..."

"Nothing handed in yet, madam."

The air outside is balmy, just a hint of summer, even though it's only mid April. I hope the weather will still be like this in ten days time, because Narcissa's wedding dress is backless and I'm counting on a fine day.

There are wide shallow steps in front of the hotel and I walk up and down them, swishing my phone back and forth, trying to get a signal but with no success. At last I head down on to the actual pavement, waving my BlackBroom around more wildly, holding it over my head, then leaning into the quiet Knightsbridge street, my phone in my outstretched fingertips.

_Come on, phone, _I mentally cajole it. _You can do it. Do it for Astoria. Fetch the message. There must be a signal somewhere... you can do it..._

"Aaaaah!" I hear my own yell of shock before I even clock what's happened. There's a twisting pain in my shoulder. My fingers feel scratched. A figure on a bike is pedalling swiftly towards the end of the road. I only have time to register an old grey hoodie and skinny black jeans before the bike turns the corner.

My hand's empty. What the hell—

I stare at my palm in numb disbelief. It's gone. That muggle stole my phone. He bloody stole it.

My BlackBroom is my _life. _I can't exist without it. It's a vital organ.

"Madam, are you alright?" The doorman is hurrying down the steps. "Did something happen? Did he hurt you?"

"I... I've been mugged," I somehow manage to stutter. "My phone's been nicked."

The doorman clicks sympathetically. "Chancers, they are. Have to be so careful in an area like this..."

I'm not listening. I'm starting to shake all over. I've never felt so bereft and panicky. What do I do without my BlackBroom? How do I function? My hand keeps automatically reaching for my phone in its usual place in my pocket. Every instinct in me want to text someone, "Oh my Merlin, I've lost my phone!" but _how can I do that without a bloody phone?_

My phone is my people. It's my friends. It's my family. It's my work. It's my world. It's everything, and it has been since the Wizarding World started producing its own mobile phones. I feel like someone's wrenched my life-support system away from me.

"Shall I call the authorities, madam?" The doorman is peering at me anxiously.

I'm too distracted to reply. I'm consumed with a sudden, even more terrible realization. The ring. I've handed out my mobile number to everyone: the cleaners, the cloakroom attendants, the Marie Curie people, everyone. What if someone finds it? What if someone's got it right this minute and there's no answer because Hoodie Guy has already chucked my SIM card into the river?

Oh Merlin. I need to talk to the concierge; I'll give him my home number instead—

No. Bad idea. If they leave a message, Draco might hear it.

OK, so... so... I'll give him my work number. Yes.

Except the other Healers in the Spell Damage department will delete it.

I'm starting to feel seriously freaked out now. Everything's unravelling.

To make matters even worse, as I run back into the lobby, the concierge is busy. His desk is surrounded by a large group of Ministry delegates, talking about restaurant reservations.

I try to catch his eye, hoping he'll beckon me forward as a priority, but he studiously ignores me, and I feel a twinge of hurt. I know I've taken up quite a lot of his time this afternoon – but doesn't he realize what a hideous crisis I'm in?

"Madam." The doorman has followed me into the lobby, his brow creased with concern. "Can we get you something for the shock? Arnold!" He briskly calls over a waiter. "A brandy for Mrs Malfoy, please, on the house. And if you talk to our concierge, he'll help you with the Aurors. Would you like to sit down?"

"No, thanks." A thought suddenly occurs to me. "Maybe I should phone my own number! Call the mugger! I could ask him to come back, offer him a reward... What do you think? Could I borrow your phone?"

The doorman almost recoils as I thrust out a hand.

"Madam, I think that would be a very foolhardy action," he says severely. "And I'm sure the authorities would agree you should not do such thing. I think you must be in shock. Kindly have a seat and try to relax."

Hmm. Maybe he's right. I'm not wild about setting up some assignation with a criminal in a hoodie. But I can't sit down and relax; I'm far too hyper. To calm my nerves I start walking round and round the same route, my heels clicking on the marble floor. Past the massive potted ficus tree... past the table with newspapers... past a big shiny litter bin... back to the ficus. It's a comforting little circuit, and I can keep my eyes fixed on the concierge the whole time, waiting for him to be free.

The lobby is still bustling with Ministry types from the conference. Through the glass doors I can see the doorman back on the steps, busy hailing taxis and pocketing tips. A tall man with dark and extravagant robes is standing near me with some European-looking wizard, looking around the lobby. He's so tall and the other men look so nervous, I almost want to smile.

The brandy arrives on a salver and I pause briefly to drain it in one, then keep walking, in the same repetitive route.

Potted ficus... newspaper table... litter bin... potted ficus... newspaper table... litter bin..

Now I've calmed down a bit, I'm starting to churn with murderous thoughts. Does that Hoodie Guy realize he's wrecked my life? Does he realize how _crucial_ that phone its? It's the worst thing you can steal from a person. The _worst_.

And it wasn't even that great a phone. It was an ancient BlackBroom. So good luck to Hoodie Guy if he wants to type 'B' or use my Witch Weekly app. I hope he tries and fails. _Then_ he'll be sorry.

Ficus... newspapers... bin...

Bin.

Wait.

What's that?

I stop dead in my tracks and stare into the bin, wondering if someone's playing a trick on me, or if I'm hallucinating.

It's a phone.

Right there in the litter bin. A mobile phone.


End file.
